Sap Still Rises

Walking in leafy wood
Trees felled lie obscenely
Spreading dead branches
Waiting to seep into the core
Of their rootless earth.
The same fate awaits
He feels the drums pulse
In his tired brain
Exhausted from searching.
He feels a connection
He feels and finds
A disconnected tree
truncated lying there
Just a headless tree
Its body gone
A rounded layered
Wonder of the earth
Many cycles of life
Etched in its circles.
The sap still rises
He see this and is
Overjoyed.

Sheighle Birdthistle is an Irish poet living in Provence France and is Director of The Poetry Corner In Aix en Provence. She has a Masters Degree in Modern English Literature awarded by University of Limerick. Ireland. She also spent a semester at Harvard Summer School studying the work of Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. Sheighle Birdthistle engages both the heart and mind in her poetry as she contemplates the real and the abstract. Sometimes the aching need to confront her humanity is obvious in the chosen words and the poetry reflects this longing. This poet also enjoys dancing with the absurdity of life and writes with honesty that displays her love of words.